


On The Run

by JadeMoon



Series: Bucky's Angel [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, CA:TWS, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hydra (Marvel), Memory Loss, Not Canon Compliant, Rescue, SHIELD, Saving Grace - Freeform, Soft Bucky, Who am I?, hideout, learning, scared Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeMoon/pseuds/JadeMoon
Summary: He's on the run from his keepers when he's saved by an unlikely heroine. She saves him, tends to his wounds, both physical and emotional. She saves him, but can he find his way to save himself?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Bucky's Angel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118510
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	On The Run

He runs through the streets, sticking to alleys, his clothes soaked from pulling the man (Steve) from the river. 

The man (Steve) called him Bucky. Had said things that both confused and infuriated him. The man (Steve) claimed he knew him. They were friends. Refused to fight him. And then the man (Steve) said something that scared the living hell out of him. Scared him so much he stopped fighting the man (Steve). Something inside his mind opened and he knew -- _he knew_ \-- without a shadow of a doubt who the man he’d been sent to kill was. Steve Rogers. His childhood best friend. The man who had rescued him. 

And then the airship disintegrated around them and they fell into the water, but Steve was hurt. Steve was too hurt to swim so he had to fish Steve out of the river. He fished Steve out of the river and now he’s on the run because those that control him want him back and he can’t go back. More importantly he doesn’t want to. 

So he runs. A siren screams close by and he ducks into the next alley and crouches as low as he can get behind a rancid smelling dumpster. 

Just as the siren passes a hand wraps around his mouth and on reflex he sends an elbow flying back and then flips the person over his shoulder and onto their back. 

It’s a woman. He thinks he recognizes her but he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t know anything and that scares the shit out of him. 

“Stop. Listen to me,” she pleads, putting her hands up in surrender. “I want to help you. I’m here to help you. Please.”

“Why?” he hears himself ask. Another siren screams by and he hides behind the dumpster again. He watches as the woman cautiously rolls onto her side, never taking her eyes off of him. She shows no malice, her eyes wide and pleading. 

“My name is Rayne. We have to get out of here. They’ll catch you and I know you don’t want that. You don’t want to be caught by either side.”

Either side? He’s more confused now. What other side is there? There is only HYDRA and what they tell him to do. But he does not want to go back to HYDRA. He does not want to do the things they made him do, the things that are trying to flood his memory as he tries to hide and get away. 

“Listen to me,” she says again, still moving cautiously, “you have to trust me. I can take you to a safe place until the immediate heat is off. I don’t want you to get caught. I don’t want them to take you back. But you have to trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His heart is hammering in his chest so hard it’s making his head pound. He’s never been so scared. He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to go back ever again. 

He nods his head slowly. 

“Okay.” She smiles a little. He watches her look around. “Gotta get you out of that goddamn BDSM suit they have you in.”

BDSM? Is that code for something? He sees her eyes settle on something. She holds up one finger and then points to the wall behind him. He slinks back until he’s against said wall then watches her in horrified fascination as she shreds the clothes off of a man hiding in a cardboard box. 

“Shut up and I’ll let you live. One word and I’ll gut you like a fucking fish. Am I clear?” he hears her snarl. He sees the man shake his head, terrified of this woman. She peels his remaining clothes off and then waits for a moment as another siren screams by them. When they pass she comes over to him and drops the clothes on the ground at his feet. They reek of piss and vomit. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers right now. Come on,” she says, already pulling at the straps on the jacket HYDRA makes him wear. He’s slow to comprehend what she’s doing. HYDRA would...HYDRA….is she HYDRA?

She stops and looks into his eyes, tilting her head just a bit, her green eyes looking deep into his. 

“I’m not going to hurt you and I’m going to try to keep them from hurting you anymore.”

He holds back a sob that tries to break through. 

She pulls the jacket off of him and then goes to his boots. 

“Help me get these off.” She’s working as fast as she can and he does as she says. He gets to work on the other boot, pulling it off and then pushing her hands away to get the other one off. She pulls his shirt over his head and then over his arms and quickly pulls the foul smelling clothes she took from the other man over his head. 

“Pants.”

He stands and her hands go to his belt. His stomach drops as she undoes it and then works his pants down his hips, over his thighs, down his calves…

There’s a woman on her knees in front of him and some primal part of him stirs in his groin. She stops and looks up at him, skewing an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile on her lips. 

“Step out. Hurry.”

He steps out of the pants and she makes quick work of gathering everything up and taking it to the man she’d stripped a few minutes ago. 

“Take these. Not a word where you got them. I will find you. Do you understand?”

He sees the man nod his head quickly. She drops his gear on the man and comes back to him. 

“Let’s move.”

She takes his hand and pulls him further into the alley. He follows because he doesn’t know what else to do. Everytime they hear a siren she shields him, pushing him down or against a wall or behind heaps of trash. Eventually they stop and she’s looking up at a rusty ladder attached to a building. 

“We go up from here,” she tells him and points up. He nods to indicate he understands. She jumps and grabs the ladder, her feet dangling a few feet above the ground. The ladder groans and appears to slide a bit, but then it doesn’t move. She starts to climb. She stops and looks down at him, waiting for him to follow. He jumps, grabs the rungs and the ladder slides down more. 

“Shit!” she hisses. It must have scared her. She glances over her shoulder again and then starts to climb again. He’s thankful it’s dark out now and there are almost no lights in the alley or along the building. 

She climbs and climbs and eventually swings herself over to a rusted out landing.

“Careful. I don’t know how much weight this will hold.”

She opens a window and sits on the sill waiting for him. He swings himself over, trying to land carefully but in doing so he lands hard and awkward and the landing screeches under his weight. He can feel it sagging and then suddenly he’s being yanked through the window where he falls inside on top of her.

“Oof,” she grunts as he scrambles to get off of her. She’s quick to get up and close the window. She pulls the shade and then sits back against the wall. 

“Okay,” she says with a sigh of relief, “now to get you out of those disgusting clothes.”

She gets up and then extends her hand to him. He takes it and she leads him through the tiny apartment to a closet sized bathroom. 

“It’s not much, but it works. It’s low key and it works.” She sounds overly apologetic about this. He’s about to say something but she’s stripping him again, pulling the vile smelling shirt over his head. In the light he can see he’s got wounds to tend to. HYDRA would have done the bare minimum and then thrown him back into cryo.

How does he know this?

She’s pulling at his pants now, yanking them off along with the crusty shoes. More open wounds, bruising, scrapes, cuts…

“Get in the shower. There’s fresh soap and shampoo. Scrub yourself really good. I’ll dress your wounds when you’re done.”

She gathers the clothes and shoves them into a garbage bag and ties it shut. 

“I have other clothes for you. They’re clean, I promise,” she says, sounding apologetic again. He nods. She points to towels and washcloths folded neatly on the back of the toilet, then she smiles sheepishly and leaves him alone, pulling the curtain closed that separates the bathroom from the rest of the little apartment. He looks down at himself and sees he’s got his hands cupped over his crotch. He hadn’t realized he had done this. Modesty? He doesn’t know. His head is throbbing from the flood of broken memories trying to drown him. 

He turns the water on, peels his underwear off, steps in and shivers as the icy water hits his skin. He doesn’t know how to adjust the water temperature. It’s just a lever. He turns it all the way in one direction and the water slowly warms up but never gets hot. He grabs the soap she had left for him and soaps up hurriedly using the soap in his hair and on his body. He rinses quickly, the water rapidly getting cold again. He steps out of the shower, teeth chattering. He hates being cold. He’s never been more certain of anything than that. He. Hates. Cold. 

He dries himself off with one of the towels she left for him and then realizes he has no clothes in here. His stomach drops. What does he do?

“You okay in there?”

She’s by the bathroom, her voice low and soft. Soft. That’s a new word for him. 

“Yes,” he manages to croak out. 

“Can I come in?”

His eyes go wide. What the hell…

Before he can finish that thought she’s pulling the curtain back.He hastily wraps the towel around his hips to cover himself. He can see she’s carrying more clothes and a first aid kit. Military first aid kit. Is she military? He tenses up. Who is she? What does she want from him?

“Easy, baby. Easy,” she whispers, putting the first aid kit on the sink where it slides into the basin. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you and I won’t let anyone get you to hurt you again as long as I can help it.”

He swallows hard, not sure if he should believe her or not. 

“Look,” she says, showing him the clothes, “fresh and clean, like I promised. Let me get your wounds cleaned and covered, okay?”

She’s asking his permission .No one asks him what he wants. They just do things to him. 

She’s waiting for an answer. He nods his head slowly. She puts the clothes on the back of the toilet and opens the first aid kit. He watches in awe as she carefully cleans and dresses his wounds, checking him over front to back to make sure she’s gotten everything. She ends with his right hand, taking it gently in her own, and looking it over. He marvels at how soft her touch is. 

“Does it hurt to flex your fingers?” she asks. He flexes his fingers for her. It hurts, but nothing is broken. That much he knows.

She nods her head, running her thumb over his bruised and raw knuckles. 

“I didn’t know what kind of...underwear...I got boxers. I just...so yeah,” she says, a faint blush coming to her cheeks, “socks, jeans, shirt, boxers...it’s all there. I’ll...uh...leave you to it.”

Again, that flush to her cheeks as she leaves him and pulls the curtain closed. He looks at the clothes and touches them, not sure if they’re real or not. They feel real enough. He pulls the boxers on first. Striped blue and white. Next comes the jeans and then the shirt. These aren’t like the clothes from when he was younger. 

He freezes.

How does he know this? 

He furrows his brow trying to remember something -- _anything_ \-- that would answer that question, but all he can find are trace memories of the horrible things he’s done and it makes his stomach clench and churn. He swallows back the bile rising in his throat, pulls the socks on and then opens the curtain. She’s at the window, a gun in her hand at her side, as she peeks through the shade. She sees him move and her grip tightens and then loosens. She smiles when she sees him. 

“Better than what you had on earlier,” she remarks. He wonders if she’s referring to the clothes she took from the other man or what he was wearing before that. He tries to smile but can’t. So much is racing through his mind right now. He looks at her gun and her eyes drop to it.

“Protection. We’re not out of the woods yet, baby.”

We? Is she in trouble, too?

“Are you hungry? I don’t have much. I grabbed what I could. All I have are rations, but it’s better than nothing. Can’t risk going out and being seen right now,” she explains. She’s smart. He knows she has training from somewhere. Military? HYDRA? Is she with Steve? 

His heart stops for a moment. Steve. Steve Rogers. His best friend…

“Hey,” her voice calls him back, soft and low. “You’re safe right now. I’m going to do everything I can to keep it that way. Alright?”

He nods his head. He doesn’t know what to say to her. He’s only ever been given orders. Do this. Kill them. Destroy that. 

She holsters her weapon and he watches as she sets a small ball on the floor. The floor. This is the first he’s noticed that it’s covered with insulated tarps. A quick scan of the apartment (it’s not bigger than a room he realizes now) shows that she’s been very strategic about things. The bed frame secured against the door. There is only the window to gain entrance and exit now. He’s willing to bet that if he had paid more attention that the location of their hideout was strategic as well.

Hideout. He’s hiding out. He’s running from his past, from his keepers. And who is she? Where does she fit in? Why is there a fragment of recognition there? 

“Will you eat?” she asks. “You need to keep your strength up.”

She’s already pulling something from a large, drab green duffle bag. He can tell by the foil packaging that these are the military rations she was talking about. She hands him one and he takes it, marveling at how steady his hand is. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. She smiles grandly and he would swear to the gods he saw stars for a second.

“You’re welcome. Eat up and then try and get some rest. I covered the crusty mattress with a few tarps and some sleeping bags. I’ll keep watch,” she tells him. She drops to her haunches and presses on the small ball she’d placed on the floor earlier. He sees red lasers come up and out and fan out around the area by the door and window. She goes back to the window and leans against the wall to peer cautiously around the shade. 

He sits and eats the rations she gave him and watches her. She drums her fingers on the butt of her gun, lightly so there is no sound. Like an old west gunslinger. 

He stops chewing to ponder this new information. She looks over at him and gives him a quick smile. He still can’t make himself smile. Maybe he’s forgotten how to? How the hell do you forget how to smile?

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Again with that pet name. 

He looks up at her and shakes his head. He’d never be able to tell her in a way she’d understand. Not that she’s stupid...he’s certain she’s pretty goddamn smart.

“Why do you call me baby?” His mouth is in gear before his brain can keep him quiet. Her eyes drop and he sees her shift uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit. I won’t do it again.” She turns her attention back to the window, but he can see she’s upset even if she hides it well. He hates himself for that. He wants to tell her it’s okay but he doesn’t. Instead he wraps the remainder of the ration up in the foil and goes over to the mattress. He sits down and then forces himself to lay down on it. 

Soft. It’s soft. Like her voice. 

He looks over hoping maybe she’ll be looking at him, that maybe he can remember how the fuck to smile, but no...she’s still keeping her eyes on whatever is outside of the window. 

He hates himself. Loathes himself. Not just for being an asshole to her, but for all the things he’s done, things his unlocked mind is now showing him, things he can’t escape. 

His eyes snap open, a million voices screaming for mercy ringing in his ears, crimson blood every time he closes his eyes. His stomach barely gives him enough time to launch himself into the bathroom. He heaves up what he’d managed to eat into the toilet. He keeps going, his insides feeling like they’re trying to come up through his throat. 

He hears water running and then there’s an ice cold washcloth on the back of his neck sending goosebumps over his flesh and making him heave more. 

“Shhh…” The washcloth moves to his brow and then down over his cheek, and down to his neck and collarbone. 

He feels her warm body settling in behind him as she gently wipes his face. 

“Lean back. I’ve got you.”

Her voice, like her body, is soft and warm and he yields to her, leaning back into her open embrace, his head resting under her chin. She wipes the vomit from the strands of hair around his face and then tosses the washcloth at the sink. She puts her arms around him and holds him. Soft. Gentle. Things he’d forgotten. Things he’d subconsciously longed for. 

“Shh…I’ve got you.” Her voice is nothing more than a breath against the shell of his ear. Fingers in his hair, running through the length of it, pulling it from his face, and tucking it behind his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Softness. Gentle touches like the kiss of a butterfly. Warmth from another human, another person. Things he was denied by them. Things he’d forgotten. Things…..

His eyes open slowly, his vision hazed. He freezes, not sure where the hell he is or how he got there.

“You’re safe. You’re alright.” Warm breath against his ear. It’s her. The tension lets go as he absorbs her warmth again, as she brushes his hair from his brow. 

Did they sleep like this?

He sits up and looks at her. She’s exhausted, dark circles under her eyes answer his question. He slept. She did not. 

“I kept watch. I told you I would,” she tells him as if she knew what he was thinking. 

“Thank you, Rayne.” 

She smiles more, seemingly pleased that he remembered her name. The stars come back but only for a fleeting moment. 

“Hungry?” she asks. He nods his head. He’s famished. What happened last night? He tries to remember as she stands up and stretches behind him. He hears her back pop and she grunts. He sees she’s still got her weapon holstered. And that the shirt she’s wearing stretches beautifully over her round breasts. Full, round breasts. 

There’s that stirring in his groin again. 

She’s stepping past him and out of the bathroom. He rubs his eyes like a tired child and then stands up. He goes out after her and finds her sitting on the edge of the mattress digging through the duffle bag. 

“I didn’t finish mine from last night,” he tells her.

“Do you want a fresh one?” she asks. He shakes his head no. She hands him the one he had rewrapped and a bottle of water. He chugs the water greedily and she hands him another one. He drinks this a little slower. 

“We have enough. If we need more I’ll go out at night and get it.”

The thought of her going out and leaving him makes him fearful for both of them.

“No.”

She looks surprised by his outburst. 

“No?” she asks. 

“This...this is fine…” he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t want to make her feel bad like he did last night. She studies him for a few moments but doesn’t say anything. She opens her own ration and picks at it. 

Screams from outside. They both jump up and she’s at the window, weapon drawn, peering outside. His heart is racing. 

“Rayne?”

“Meth heads fighting. Or crack heads. Take your pic.”

“Meth...heads?” he asks. She looks over at him, smiles, and shakes her head. 

“Go eat. I’ll keep watch.” 

“You need to eat, too,” he tells her. She nods absently, but she’s more focused on what’s going on outside. He debates arguing, decides against it, and just goes back to the mattress to finish eating. 

He thinks about her name and as he does a new realization settles upon him. Who is he? Steve had called him Bucky. Who the hell is Bucky? _Who is he really?_

He’s dwelt on that question all day and now that night has fallen it still plagues him. Rayne has nodded off sitting on the floor leaned against the mattress. He knows she’s tired. How long has she been awake before this? 

A noise outside makes her snap her head up. Her eyes narrow and she gets up to resume her station at the window. He wants to ask her who he is, wants to ask her who she is, how she knows him, how he knows her…

Instead…

“You need to rest,” he tells her. She looks over her shoulder at him and smiles.

“So do you.”

He wants to tell her he spent enough time in cryo, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to explain how he knows this or why and he doesn’t want her to ask him questions. Not that she has asked any questions of him thus far. It makes him wonder how much she knows about him. 

Does she know his name?

“Try and go to sleep, ba--” She stops herself, purses her lips and looks away from him. He kicks himself. Hates himself. 

He drops onto his side on the mattress close to where she had been leaning. He can smell her. She smells like...like…

He closes his eyes and slowly reopens them. 

“Go to sleep,” she whispers. He sees her watching him from the window, green eyes soft in the warm glow of the lights in the room. 

He sits up. 

“I can’t.”

“Why is that?”

He looks at the floor. 

“Too many things…” he trails off. His head suddenly hurts again. He rubs his temples, feeling the scars left behind by the electrodes from the chair…

He groans and clamps his eyes shut. 

A warm hand on his cheek makes him open his eyes. She’s crouched before him, looking at him worriedly. 

“Are you okay?” He can hear the concern in her voice, see it on her face. He tries to speak but his voice is suddenly gone. She stands up and pulls him closer, holding him against her, his head resting on her warm, soft body. He wants to put his arms around her, he wants to hold her, but he can’t. He can’t bring himself to lift his arms to do it. 

She runs her fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. 

“It’s okay. It’s alright,” she whispers to him. “Lie back down.”

He lifts his head to look up at her. Once more she brushes his hair back from his brow with a gentleness he both fears and longs for. He wants to talk to her, ask her so many questions but one look in her eyes and anything he wants to say or ask is gone. She runs her fingers along his jaw and he’s certain he’s never felt anything like this before. 

“Try and go to sleep,” she says softly. 

“What about you?” he asks.

“I will keep watch.”

He shakes his head no. 

“Your vibration ball will alert us of any movement in the perimeter. You can’t keep this up for much longer, Rayne.”

She’s hesitant, looking at the window for a moment and then back to him. 

“I’ll keep watch,” he offers. 

“You need to heal from your wounds and to do that you need to rest,” she counters. He lowers his head. How does he make her understand…

“I can’t sleep,” he admits. Her fingertips brushing against his cheek make him look up again. 

“I’ll stay here with you till you fall asleep,” she bargains. That’s not what he wants.

“Rayne. A few hours. Just sleep for a few hours.”

She shakes her head no again, but he persists. 

“A few hours. Right here,” he says patting the bed. He can see how tired she is. He knows the feeling all too well. Doesn’t he? Running on fumes to catch his prey? 

She’s eyeing the bed. He thinks he’s won but then she finds her resolve and shakes her head no again. 

“I’m alright. I’m fine. You need to heal.”

The tone of her voice has changed, albeit slightly. She’s not going to back down now. He’s afraid to argue, afraid of the consequences if he does. If she is HYDRA...but HYDRA has never been so gentle with him…

He drops onto his side again and watches her go back to the window. 

“Rayne.”

She glances over her shoulder at him. 

“Please.” It’s all he can manage to say. In truth he is afraid to go to sleep again. The visions that stalk him by day are the nightmares that haunt him at night. Did he ever dream in cryo? He thinks he did. He doesn’t want to dream anymore.

She comes back to him and sits down on the mattress beside him. 

“I’ll stay here with you,” she says softly. “Lie down, okay?”

He does not expect her to lie down, but to just sit behind him. She shocks him when she stretches out behind him. He can feel her warmth radiating into his back. He feels her moving behind him and then one of the sleeping bags is being pulled up over his legs to his hip. 

“It’s going to get cold tonight,” she tells him, pulling the sleeping bag up over his arm now. 

“Thank you.” It’s all he can say. His eyelids feel heavy all of the sudden. He wants to say goodnight or something equally dumb but he doesn’t. 

* * *

_“You know me.”_

_“Bucky?”_

_“Finish it. Because I’m with you till the end of the line.”_

_“Bucky?”_

_“Bucky...Bucky...Bucky…”_

_“BUCKY!”_

He sits up hands clamped over his mouth to hold back the scream in his throat. 

“No no no. It’s okay, it’s okay,” he hears her whisper. He feels her sit up and scoot closer to him. 

“No...it’s not okay,” he whimpers. “Who am I? I don’t...I don’t know who…” he covers his face with his hands. 

Her arms are around him now, he can feel her pulling him to her, closer to her warmth. He turns to her, puts his arms around her...he needs to know...he needs to find out…

“I don’t know who I am…” his voice is hoarse and choked by anguish. “Who am I? Who am I?”

He just keeps repeating the question over and over. She holds him tighter, pulling him closer as she cradles him while he breaks down.

It’s hours later when he opens his eyes again. They burn and sting. He rubs his eyes and he feels Rayne behind him curl up closer. He feels her breath on the back of his neck slow and deep. She finally went to sleep. 

There’s a chill in the air. He pulls the sleeping bag up more. If he’s cold she must be freezing. He carefully rolls over and covers her with the sleeping bag, too. She sighs and opens her eyes slowly. 

“Shit,” she mutters. “Are you okay, baby...goddammit…”

“No, but thank you,” he replies honestly. “Thank you.” He puts his hand on her cheek and she smiles. 

“Close your eyes, try to go back to sleep,” she tells him, moving to get up from the mattress. 

“You need to stay put,” he replies, “it’s too cold in here for either one of us to be out from under these blankets.”

She nods her head. 

“I can tell,” she says and blows air into the room. He can see her breath. She burrows deeper under the sleeping bag and then pulls him closer. She’s so warm. He puts his arm around her and they huddle together under the sleeping bag. He watches her eyes close slowly. 

“Go to sleep,” he tells her. She smiles and opens her eyes. 

“You need to go to sleep,” she says, smiling more. He sees stars again. 

“We can’t do anything till it warms up in here,” she adds. He knows she’s right and he’s pleased to see that she’s still able to think clearly despite how tired she must be. 

He closes his eyes when she touches his face. He opens them again when she nestles her head under his chin and then closes them when he hears her sigh. 

Movement. His eyes fly open and he sits up and looks around. He sees her moving silently towards the window. She looks back and presses a finger to her lips. He can see daylight streaming around the blinds. He hears noises from outside the door. The vibration ball on the floor has been triggered now and is flashing. He slinks across the floor and stops the flashing lights. She’s got her weapon drawn, she looks at him and points to the duffle bag. He nods. She’s going to arm him. She’s trusting him. Should she? He doesn’t know. Right now it doesn’t matter. He moves stealthily to the duffle bag, finds the other automatic and quietly puts a fresh magazine in place. 

More noise outside the door. She’s on high alert. He listens, just as she is, to the noise outside. Arguing. Screaming. Gun shots. He feels the hackles on the back of his neck rise. She looks at him and holds up one finger again. Wait. He stops and time seems to stop with him. 

More arguing and then nothing. Silence. They stand perfectly motionless for what feels like way too long. She nods towards the ball. He cautiously heads to it and presses the button on it again. The laser grid lights up and stays steady. Rayne doesn’t move, still listening, just like he is. There is only silence now. 

After another few minutes she lowers her weapon and sighs. He waits for another moment or two and then removes the magazine from the gun. He hands her the gun and magazine. He doesn’t want them. He doesn’t like the feel of them. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, holstering her gun. He nods. 

“What time is it?” He’s lost track of time being with her. That worries him. He sees her look at her watch.

“Just after six A.M.”

It’s still early. And their hideout is still very, very cold. He looks at the bed and then back at her. She gives him a curious look. He heads to the mattress and sits down.

“Rayne.”

She doesn’t say anything as she walks over to him. He pulls the sleeping bag down and she slips underneath it. He slides in next to her and she covers them up. She scoots closer to him and puts her arm over his side. He puts his arm over her instinctively. He can’t get over how warm and soft she is. How full her breasts feel pressed against his chest. His hand slides down a little lower, to the small of her back where his fingers find their way under her shirt, touching her bare skin. He stops and waits to see what she’ll do. She doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything. He wants to feel more of her skin. He _needs_ to. His fingers slide down till they touch the top of her jeans. He presses the palm of his hand to her back, closing his eyes at the sensation of her skin. He slowly slides his hand up till he hits something. A strap? With hooks? 

She leans back to look up at him, her green eyes darkened now, a wanton look in them. He feels an ache settle on him. Desire. 

“Take it off,” she whispers. His hands are already working at the strap with the hooks before he can give it any thought. 

The hooks come undone and the strap falls away giving him full access to her back. He slides his hand up slowly till he reaches the back of her neck and then he goes back down again. 

She snuggles closer to him, her head under his chin, and she sighs quietly, her breath warm on his neck. The jeans have become restrictive now and highly uncomfortable. He wants to take them off. He wants to strip down to nothing and then strip her down…

He’s shocked by these feelings. His hand stops in the middle of her back. He knows these feelings. He’s felt desire before. He remembers. 

She purrs softly, taking his hand and sliding it up slowly. Up and then over to her plump breast where she makes him squeeze. She lets his hand go, moving it to his chest. He cups her breast, squeezing gently, easily so he doesn’t hurt her. He can feel her nipple harden under his touch. She moans as he rolls her nipple between his thumb and finger. Her lips find his neck, soft kisses on pressure points he didn’t know he had. His need to get out of his jeans is at a fever pitch now. She drapes her leg over his hip, pressing that area of her body against his. She mewls when she grinds against him. That primal part of him takes over. He rolls on top of her, presses his lips to hers, while he grinds into her. She puts her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer and deeper into the kiss, her tongue flicking inside his mouth. 

“Rayne,” he groans. It’s a gravely sound he’s never heard from himself. He looks at her and the green is almost completely gone now, her eyes fully dilated. He pulls at her shirt and she sits up enough for him to pull it off of her. Her breasts hang full, nipples hard, and he immediately drops down, cupping one and licking and sucking the other. She writhes underneath him, moaning softly, her hips grinding up into him. He can feel the heat of her body intensifying. He needs to feel more. He needs to be inside of her. To really feel her. 

She’s pulling at his shirt now, trying to get him out of it. He sits up from her, making quick work of his shirt because he needs to keep touching her, he needs that skin to skin contact. He drops his mouth back to her breasts, working on each of them, loving the sounds she makes when his teeth graze her nipples. 

Suddenly she’s pushing him off of her and her hands go to his pants, yanking at the button trying to get it open and then to the zipper. He lets her go, throbbing against the fabric of his jeans every time her hands touch him. She gets his jeans down to his hips and he takes over. He undoes the holster and puts it on the floor next to the mattress. She’s pulling her jeans down exposing more skin and the sexiest pair of women’s underwear he’s ever seen. He doesn’t care how he knows this, he just knows. He runs his hands over her thighs and pushes them open. She moans and grabs her breasts and that’s all it takes. He pulls his boxers down and she bites her lip and yanks her underwear down and then off. He parts her legs and then slides into her heated core. His eyes close at the feel of her silken heat around him. His hips start thrusting of their own accord, like his body just knows what to do. She locks him between her legs, pulls him closer, and kisses him greedily. He can feel the pressure building inside him. Like a storm that’s about to break. He thrusts faster and she matches him, grinding into him, her fingers racing up and down his back, her soft moans and pleas giving him sensory overload. 

Suddenly the storm breaks and he sees the stars, feels the stars in her, around her, everywhere. 

He opens his eyes, not realizing he’d had them closed. She’s looking at him warmly, softly. Her lips are red and puffy from their hard kisses. She smiles at him and caresses his face, strokes his hair, tucks a strand behind his ear. He’s still inside her, limp now, the ache is gone, the need to still touch her is still very much there, though. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell her this. 

She pulls him close, he lowers himself down on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder. She strokes his hair and rubs his bare back. He pulls the sleeping bag up and over them. This is a much better way to stay warm, he thinks. Inside her silken heat, on top of her firm breasts, her fingers in his hair, her other hand rubbing his back. Her touch is everything to him right now. 

* * *

It’s later on in the day now. He took a look at her watch before they untangled themselves from each other. The hardest thing to do was trying to convince himself to pull out of her. He could have stayed inside her forever. When he did pull out she had gasped a little. He was suddenly concerned he may have hurt her. He had cupped her face and held her gaze to his when she smiled a whole new smile. The sweetest smile, the warmest, the best most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. And the look in her eyes. There was something there, something he had known before but can’t place now. 

Now she’s in the shower cleaning up. She’d given him her holstered weapon while he kept watch. It’s still in its holster. He’s just holding it. Even though it’s hers he still hates it. Hates what it makes him think of. Hates how it makes him feel. Hates the fragmented memories that are still flooding in. 

He hears the water stop and looks over at the curtain. He can see her touch the bare floor as she steps out of the tiny shower. He feels a twitch in his pants and absently palms himself through his jeans. She pulls the curtain back a few minutes later, completely dressed. He’s thoroughly disappointed. She grins a little as if knowing what he’s thinking. 

“Go clean up,” she tells him, smiling a little. He gets up, leaving the holster on the bed. He thinks to stop next to her and...and...and do what? He doesn’t know. He walks past her and into the tiny bathroom. He sees she’s left clean clothes next to the towels. Who is this girl? This soft, gentle, angel…

He cleans up quickly, teeth chattering in the cold water. He finishes and dries off as fast as he can so he can get into warm clothes again. 

He steps out of the bathroom to find her waiting for him. Her demeanor has changed. There’s a sense of urgency to her now. 

“Here. These should fit.” She hands him a pair of all black sneakers. He sees there’s something else in her hand. 

He puts the sneakers on and watches her. She’s nervous or upset or...something. 

“Rayne. What is it?” He thinks he knows, though. Time’s up.

“It’s time to move on,” she tells him, her voice low, sad…

He nods his head. She hands him what else she’s holding. He looks at it. It’s an envelope. He opens it. Inside is a passport, cash, travelers cheques, a fake ID…

She hands him something else now. It’s a small booklet. The title says “The Captain America Museum”. He looks at her, thoroughly confused as to what the hell this is for.

“You need to know who you are…” she stops and takes a deep breath, “and I can’t tell you that. Only you can find that out. You have to find that out.”

She turns from him and grabs something else. She turns back around and hands him a backpack. 

“Rations, clothes, a coat with money and cheques sewn into the sides. And a Ruger with some ammo...just in case.”

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m leaving first. Wait one hour and then go. One hour. Understand?”

She’s firm now, any softness is gone. He feels like she’s giving him orders and he’s obligated to nod his head yes in compliance. He wonders why he has to wait. Why they can’t go together. Why she can’t just tell him who he is…

“One hour.” She checks her weapon and then reholsters it. She pulls a jacket on, pulls her hair back, and as she heads to the door he grabs her arm. He pulls her close and kisses her. 

“Thank you.” 

She nods her head, tries to smile, but she can’t seem to. She pulls away from him and walks out the door. He feels a new sensation, like someone is stabbing him in the heart repeatedly. It hurts. It hurts like hell.

He waits an hour, like she instructed. In that time he’s heard sirens galore going crazy. Peeking outside he sees reds and blues racing past the building. He knows now. He knows now why she left and why she made him wait. 

She’s using herself as a diversion.


End file.
